“No!” Ephyra cried out. “If you want my help, you’ll let them go.”

The god cocked its head at Ephyra. “YOU SEEK TO BARGAIN WITH ME?”

“Not bargaining,” Ephyra said, a faint tremor in her voice. “Threatening.”

“YOU DO NOT THREATEN A GOD, LITTLE MORTAL,” the god boomed as it rounded on Ephyra. “I CAN SKIN YOU ALIVE.”

It tossed the Wanderer to the ground. She fell off the side of the platform, landing on the floor of the sanctum below. Anton scrambled to the edge of the platform, gripping the railing and looking down. It was at least a twelve-foot drop.

“I’m all right,” the Wanderer said, bracing a hand against her side as she stumbled to her feet. A cracked rib, most likely. Her eyes moved back to the god, and Anton followed her gaze.

“You need me,” Ephyra said. “Beru’s still fighting you in there, isn’t she? You thought she’d give up by now, but she hasn’t. And she won’t. I know my sister, and I know what she’s capable of. So let me free you from her, and in exchange, leave my friends alone.”

When the god spoke next, it was to Lazaros. “GIVE HER THE CHALICE.”

Lazaros obeyed at once, reaching inside the silver chest and pulling out the familiar, jewel-studded Chalice and holding it out to Ephyra.

Ephyra curled her fingers around its stem, darting a glance at Hector before she closed her eyes. After a moment, the Chalice began to glow. She reached her other hand out and, trembling, cupped Beru’s face. Thin tendrils of black smoke seemed to seep out of Beru.

Now was Anton’s chance to get the Relics.

Anton started forward, his gaze zeroed in on the silver chest beside Lazaros. But a sharp tug on his hand reeled him back. Before he could make sense of what was happening, Jude stepped into Anton’s space, taking his face in his hands and kissing him. Anton was too stunned to kiss back. He was too stunned to move, his mind whirring madly, blood thrumming through his veins.

He broke away from Jude, holding tightly on to his shoulders and searching his face.

The answers were all there, laid bare for Anton to see. In Jude’s eyes, dark with desperation. In his brow, pulled taut with anguish. In his mouth, soft and trembling with guilt.

“I love you,” Jude said, and it sounded like an apology.

It sounded like a betrayal.

Jude turned on his heel and launched himself over the platform to the sanctum below. To where the Wanderer stood. She reached for Jude’s hand and that’s when Anton knew.

“What is he doing?” Hector asked.

But Anton couldn’t answer. A rage like he had never known thundered through his blood.

“Ananke!” Anton yelled, gripping the platform railing, his voice scraped raw. “You liar! You coward! You’re just like Pallas!”